Am I just meant to go about life with my eyes open? Seeing everyone before they can speak,
loving people I don’t even know? I’d rather be blindfolded and pushed down some stairs. On
The Good Days I want to take a bat to the knees of some ICE officers and on The Bad Days I
think I am them; the bat seems much closer then. Am I meant to be carefree or kind? Loving or
beloved? If Victor Hugo was right, we are all merely trying, without hope of improvement, for
betterness, not because it will change the course of pain we have all been set on since Eve
(who, don’t think I haven’t noticed, is a woman, and men wrote the Bible despite the sacrifice
and blood and tears shed by their mothers and sisters and wives) wrapped enchanted fingers
around that pomegranate, but because it is our greatest achievement and hope to simply
better the life of another by being kind, soft, tender, everything that one becomes when one
loves another enough to say, you, you are love, without doubt or arrogance. And if I love you
dearly does it mean more or less of me? When I am on my knees before you in offering; is it
pride that leads me to give what may not be taken? It could be selfish to keep this to myself; it
could be selfish to beg from you an answer. It could be fear that keeps my mouth closed, it
could be fear that takes your hand into mine and with soft thumbs, asks silently, do you do you
do you do you?
Call me Frank Ocean. I am not here for you to consume my sexuality; it is not about the body
that I am attracted to but the lash-shadowed cheekbones below streetlights, looking down as
words spill like waterfalls, love pressing its thumbs into my throat until I feel sick, love filling me
with the heat of a sunny day and the exuberance of a wave thrashing me back and forth in the
shallows of the sand.
Call me Frank Ocean! In my songs about sex my fantasies are buying Picasso paintings. Building
staircases to escape labels. Telling the straight co-opting of Camp that it can go fuck itself. Am I
tragedy or none of your goddamn business? Follow my tumblr; or don’t. I don’t fucking care.